


satelles

by plingo_kat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: Cor never could deny Noctis something when he truly wanted it.





	

When Cor is newly twenty-five and appointed Marshal, he kneels at Regis’ feet and swears to protect the royal family with his life’s blood. Regis pierces his heart with a spectral blade to bind him to service, and as Cor gasps he reaches down to pull him to his feet, into an embrace like a steel cage.

“Thank you,” Regis breathes into Cor’s ear. Cor closes his eyes and grips Regis’ arm hard enough to bruise. It’s all he can do; Regis understands.

*

Noctis doesn’t squall much as a child, not even when Regis barely has time to rock him to sleep or read him stories. The king always has bags under his eyes these days, ever since Aulea passed away, the stress carving deep lines into the corners of his mouth.

Cor stands guard over the young prince, a steady presence for both child and father as Noctis advances rapidly from crying to crawling, then to walking, and running, and getting into trouble. Noctis doesn’t grow out of his quiet either: he’s not talkative as he grows older, although he can hold a conversation well.

As Noctis edges into his teens Cor gets called away more often during the daylight hours, sometimes for weeks. When he returns to Noctis eating dinner alone in front of the television, Regis held up in the Council chambers or in emergency meetings, he joins the boy on the couch. Noctis curls up next him as Cor drapes a protective arm over skinny shoulders.

*

“Cor,” Noctis says one night, looking up from his homework. He used to call Cor ‘uncle’ -- there are still videos somewhere of a chubby toddler chanting “Unca Co’!” -- but the practice stopped sometime after Noctis hit thirteen. Cor convinces himself he doesn’t miss that closeness.

He’s seated next to Noctis at the kitchen table, angled to be between Noctis and the window yet still with a good line of sight to both the hallway and backyard door. When Noctis speaks he transfers his gaze from the stack of papers in front of him to the prince. “Yes?”

Noctis meets his eyes for a second before looking away. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” Cor puts the reports down. Noct tends to keep things close to the chest, so when he asks for advice it’s usually serious. “I’ll answer what I can.”

“Um,” Noctis says. His fingers fiddle with his pencil, twisting the end of it around and around, the plastic faintly clicking. “How do you know if someone likes you?”

Cor breathes in. Regis should be here, he thinks; this isn’t something Noctis should have to ask Cor. But Regis isn’t here, and Cor is, and if everything he wished were true then things would be very different.

“Do you think somebody likes you?” he says, cautious. “Or do _you_ like someone?”

Noctis flushes, which is answer enough. Cor fights down a rush of panicked fondness.

“If you like somebody,” he continues as if unaware of Noctis’ burning face, “the best thing to do is to tell them. That way they can decide if they like you back -- or if they don’t. Better to know.” He taps the tabletop for emphasis. “If they like _you_ and you don’t return their feelings, it depends. Sometimes the kindest thing is to ignore it. Maybe they don’t want you to know. If they do, they’ll tell you. If it’s becoming a problem, you can ask them what’s wrong. Don’t assume you know how anybody else feels.”

Noctis mumbles something, chin nearly to his chest; he’s mortified, the poor boy.

“What was that?”

Noctis raises his head. “What if it’s another guy?”

Cor blinks and carefully doesn’t react more strongly. There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to men, of course, but Noctis is the prince, and the only heir. He knows it’s his duty to marry.

Of course.

“Then it’s the same,” Cor says. “You may have to be slightly more diplomatic if you’re stating your feelings, though.”

“Yeah,” Noctis snorts. “I guess. Thanks, Cor.”

He turns back to his homework like nothing happened. Cor considers pushing the issue and discards the idea; Noctis will come to terms with it in his own time, or he won’t. Anything Cor says now will just muddy the waters.

Cor picks up his reports.

*

“Sire.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, Cor?”

“Have you spoken to Noctis recently?”

“About what?”

“He asked me about romantic entanglements.”

“I, ah, hope you gave him the relevant safety details.”

“ _Sire_.”

“No, no, sorry. Go on.”

“Noctis may be infatuated with some young man and too embarrassed to talk to you. I thought you might try to work it out of him.”

“Oh! Oh. Thank you for letting me know, Cor.”

“Your Majesty.”

*

Despite the opulence of the palace, its sturdy foundations and thick marble walls, sound carries easily. Maybe it’s _because_ of the marble, although Cor is no acoustics expert. In any case when Cor stands guard outside of Noctis’ room for three months after acquiring intelligence of an assassination attempt, he can hear Noctis’ dreams and nightmares. They echo in the darkness, restless kicks or breathy moans, and Cor finds them perversely comforting.

Noctis still lives.

*

_Surely_ Cor didn’t used to masturbate this much when he was a teen.

Or, at least not so loudly.

*

When Noctis comes of age, there is another assassination attempt. This time no intelligence crossed their desks; it’s solely due to Gladiolus’ training and Noctis’ own reflexes that Noctis kills one of his attackers, leaving him still alive when the Crownsguard burst in. They capture the other but he kills himself with poison.

Noctis has nightmares for the next three days, until Cor finally breaks and enters the room when he hears Noctis cry out for the fourth night in a row.

“Noctis,” Cor says, keeping his voice low and soothing. He reaches out a wary hand, ready to call forth his sword to block a manifested blade. “Noctis, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

“Nn,” Noctis whines, twisting in the sheets. His face briefly catches a glimmer of moonlight falling through the window; it’s wet with tears.

“Noctis,” Cor says more firmly, and shakes Noctis’ shoulder.

“No!” Noctis shouts, and drives a dagger toward Cor’s chest, eyes wide and staring, panicked. Cor grasps Noctis’ wrist instead of manifesting his own blade, rolling with the motion to pin Noctis to the bed.

“Noctis!” he snaps, and Noctis shakes his head like a dog sloughing off water. “It’s Cor, you’re safe. You were having a nightmare, Noctis.”

Cor can see the sweep of eyelashes as Noctis blinks, for all that they’re damply clumped together. His voice is small. “Cor?”

“Yes.” Cor doesn’t let the relief show on his face although he relaxes his grip. “Are you with me now, Noctis?”

“Yeah.” Noctis relaxes and dismisses his dagger. “S-sorry.”

“No, it’s good you act to defend yourself. Don’t apologize.” Cor makes to disentangle himself, but before he can stand Noctis’ hand shoots out and clutches at his shirt. “Noctis?”

“Can you stay with me?” Noctis speaks into the blankets, not looking at Cor, but his words are clear.

Cor hesitates.

“Please?” Noctis says.

Cor never could deny Noctis something when he truly wanted it. Noctis took shameless advantage of this fact when he was younger, but ever since he went away to school he hasn’t asked for much at all. As Noctis steals glances at him from the corners of his eyes, Cor settles back down on the bed.

“All right,” he says, and pats the covers next to him. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

Noctis curls up with his back to Cor’s thigh.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

Cor threads his fingers through Noctis’ hair.

*

Several weeks later Cor has been pulled off door-duty again, but if he chooses to spend some of his free time walking by Noctis’ room before he turns in for the night, who’s to stop him? He knows it’s not rational, knows that there no reason for Noctis to be in danger again, that--

“Cor!”

Before he even registers what he’s doing, Cor kicks the door open and runs inside with his sword unsheathed, looking for threats. But the room is empty, Noctis in bed with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, panting, with--

With--

Cor turns his back and clenches his jaw shut. He thought he’d lost the ability to blush after he was twenty and spent a whole year undercover in the red-light district searching for an underground human trafficking ring, but now his face flames with heat. The image of Noctis, pale skin glowing in the moonlight, with his hand cupped-- with his hand around-- and the wet gleaming spatters on his chest--

Cor grinds his teeth together.

“I’m sorry,” he grits out, every part of him stiff with tension. “I thought you were in danger. I’ll leave.”

There is a rustle of blankets. Cor doesn’t move, although he should, he should leave, he should--

Noctis’ hand is fever-warm. His boxers cover him again, albeit with a suspicious smear on one side of the fabric, but he is still shirtless, still with a faint sheen on his skin. His mouth is red, his eyes wide and apprehensive.

“Cor,” he says. His voice makes Cor’s hands clench into fists.

His hand traces up Cor’s arm, to the collar of his shirt, and grips the fabric there.

“Cor,” he says again, and there’s a dawning sort of realization in his face, beautiful and terrible at once.

“Cor,” he breathes, one last time before tugging Cor down to meet him. His mouth is plush and uncertain, opening eagerly in welcome; somehow Cor’s hands are on Noctis’ hips, fingers digging into the meat of them before he forces himself to relax, running his thumbs over the jut of hipbones, feeling Noctis shiver. Noctis moans a little as Cor pulls him closer, the slim line of his body burning through Cor’s clothes straight to his skin. Cor wants--

Cor wants.

As Noctis urges him stumbling toward the bed, he realizes that he never stood a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> plingokat @ twitter


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